Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lauren
Esme put her head around the door.
“So as luck would have it you have an opening in your schedule right now.”
“Oh yeah, all the time in the world not having to deal with my non-existent client list.”
She raised a finger to her lips. “Maybe less of the defeatist talk and more of the super-agent Lauren we know and love. You have a visitor.”
I hated the part of myself that wanted to see Alexei. A week had passed since we parted, since I demanded that divorce, and I wondered if I had been too harsh. He had lied, but should I have given him the benefit of the doubt?
Esme had clear instructions not to admit him, so any hopes I had of seeing him were set aside. (She hadn’t been too pleased with me when she found out we were secretly married all this time. Tell me about it, girl.)
“Are you going to let me in on—”
“It’s Arkady Volkov!”
After the FBI crashed my party, I had canceled my scheduled call with Arkady. My confidence was shot, so I thought it better to pre-empt his likely rejection.
“Where is he?”
“Playing with my Labubu.”
“Excuse me?”
She grinned. “You really need to up your game on the pop culture, boss. Should I send him in?”
“Yes, of course!” I shoved my bag of Doritos into a drawer, took a slug of water, then stood just as Arkady entered my office. Tall, dark, and powerfully built, he was dressed in University of Minnesota sports gear. When he went into the draft, he would be top three—of that I had no doubt.
“Mr. Volkov, lovely to meet you at last.”
“Mrs. Nazarov, it is pleasure.”
Okay, so he was up on the gossip. I gestured to the seat and he took it. “Can we get you anything to drink? Esme can do a run for anything more complicated than drip coffee.”
“It is okay.”
Esme winked at me, the minx, and closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry we’ve kept missing each other.”
“You are busy person, Mrs. Nazarov.” His English was a little halting, understandable given the limited time he had spent in the US.
“Call me Lauren. Are you in town visiting Alexei?”
He shrugged. “I am visiting many people. Today I have lunch with Kit Mallinson at Peninsula. I hear it is nice.”
“They have a lovely afternoon tea and a killer chocolate bar.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that my old boss would be zeroing in on Arkady. “If you had told me you were in town, we could have set up something more formal.”
“I have enough meals on my schedule.” He picked up the puck sitting on my desk. “This is special, yes?”
“I won the championship with that puck with the Chicago Athenas ten years ago.”
“You hit shot into top shelf. It was a beauty.” He stared at it for a while, then back up at me. “You have script for new clients?”
“I do, but I imagine you’ve heard it before. You’ve probably heard a few other things, too.”
“Yes, about your … what is the word? Man mistress?”
I laughed, the first time I’d done so in a while. “Man mistress is as good as any.”
“But you are Nazarov’s woman. That is better than client script or man mistress. You have the experience, no?”
I nodded. “I know what it’s like to be courted, when people are throwing money at you, when everyone wants a piece of you. Of course, I never saw the numbers you’re dealing with, but I understand the pressures.”
Another shrug as if the pressures meant nothing. “Alexei says you have Gunnar Bond’s stick.”
I smiled. “Behind you.”
“May I?”
I gestured my permission. It was always fascinating to see superstars becoming total fanboys.
He picked it up and ran a loving hand over it. “He is one of my favorite players. Alexei, also. This seems like … what is it they say? Primeta. A sign.”
I’d had it up my eyeballs with signs. “Signs are all well and good, Arkady, but this is your career we’re talking about. You want someone who is the best fit for you, not someone with a few familial connections in the hockey world and some interesting memorabilia.”
His mouth turned down sulkily. “You do not want to be my agent?”
“Arkady, of course I do.” Was I second-guessing myself here? The events of the last couple of months had whittled away at my self-assurance. “I just want you to base your decision on facts rather than signs.”
“Perhaps you should take me to lunch so I can convince you I am good client.”
“Sure. How long are you in town for?”
“Until tomorrow morning. But there is the chocolate bar at the Peninsula, no? Are you worth canceling for it?”
“Not sure anything is worth that, but I can guarantee you I’m a more interesting lunch companion than Kit Mallinson.”
He placed Gunnar’s stick down carefully. “Then let us go eat.”
Me
Thanks for sending Arkady my way. We had lunch.
Stupid Husband
And it went well?
Me
Very. We’re drawing up the paperwork.
My phone rang. “Hey.”
“Hello. I think it is easier to talk than text.”
Speak for yourself. “So Arkady’s a big fan.”
“Yes, but not as big as me,” he said.
I laughed. “I meant he’s a big fan of you. It was almost as if you’d sent him to talk about how fantastic you are.”
“I cannot help his adoration of me. Or you. I know he has watched your games—he is the kind of person who does his research about the people he works with. I think you two will make a good team.”
Words he had once said about us. The idea of us not being a team hit me in a way I hadn’t expected.
“I would never have expected you to look out for me. After … what happened.”
“I will not switch off my feelings for you because you do not want to see me. You are right in that I have lied to you, that I have not treated you with the respect you deserve. For that, I am truly sorry. I let the situation with my father cloud my judgment. But I will always be in your corner. Never doubt that.”
My response, such as it was, died in my throat. I had been angry with him for lying, for staying away, for not trusting me. But I was also angry at my part in all this. After all, I had resisted any efforts over the years to thaw my frigid heart, and with it any chance at reconciliation.
Finally, I managed, “Thanks, Alexei.”
“Of course. I hope that one day you can forgive me, Lauren, but I realize that this might take time. If it ever happens at all. For now, I am determined to give you everything you wish for.”
Before I could respond, he clicked off with a hasty goodbye.
A few minutes later, Esme knocked on the door. “Courier delivery for you.”
I took it from her and opened the envelope. The contents should have made me happy. After all, my husband had finally come through with what I had wanted all along.
Signed divorce papers.